


Boston and Brooklyn

by Diary



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Oz (TV)
Genre: Acts of Kindness, Angst and Feels, Bechdel Test Pass, Families of Choice, Friendship/Love, Gen, Late Night Conversations, Minor Tobias Beecher/Chris Keller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-09 17:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20499671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: Crossover. Death row inmate Faith Lehane is transferred to Oz where she makes some friends and shows herself severely lacking in horror movie trivia with a fair amount of this shown through Chris Keller's POV. Complete.





	Boston and Brooklyn

Boston girl, is Chris Keller’s first thought when he looks at the newest death row inmate.

Looking up from the sink with dripping hair, she smirks at him, and he knows: Boston girl, yes, but otherwise, she ain’t no girl.

“Keller, this is Faith Lehane. Faith, this is Chris Keller. It’s part of his work detail to clean this wing,” McManus says.

“Does he clean inside the cells, too?” Her tone is simply curious, but he feels a nice shiver going down him at the brief contact her eyes make with his.

“No. Once a month, all death row inmates are given either an extra hour in the gym or an hour in solitary, depending on how well they’ve behaved, while their cells are cleaned by professionals.”

She nods. “Five by five, boss. Hey, is there anyway I can earn extra shower privileges? This only showering fifteen minutes every three days is rough.”

McManus is weary, rightfully so, but Boston girl is doing good at toning down the side of her that’d usually have McManus locking himself in his office with his blinds closed.

“I’ll see about that,” McManus practically mutters before quickly excusing himself.

“He seems nice,” she comments. Then, grabbing a towel, she moves over to the bars. “What about you? I’ve been known to have shitty judgement in people, but it’s always been more: This nice person is going to be putty, either literal or metaphorical, in my hands, and then, oops, nice person had balls and teeth I didn’t expect, than trusting the wrong person. Cause, see, I might have issues with not trusting people I should, but I’ve always been great at not trusting people I shouldn’t.”

Moving forward, he touches her hand, careful enough he can, hopefully, move back quickly if she tries anything but not so careful she’ll get the impression his touch is a simple friendly gesture. “And I’m one of the ones who sets off your Danger Will Robinson senses, I take it.”

Her eyes are beautiful, he reflects, as she bats them and grins at him. “That’s not all you set off. Any chance someone isn’t about to pop their head in here?”

On cue, they hear the door opening, and by the time the newest hack comes in, she’s back over by the sink, and he’s adding cleaner to the mop water.

Boston girl and Moses make eye contact, and leaning into the bars, she asks, “What’s someone with your beautiful skin doing in a place like this?”

Oh, yeah, he reflects as Moses laughs, for as long as Boston girl’s here, she’ll be fine.

“What about you?” Moses asks.

“I may or may not fit the definition of a serial killer. I killed multiple people, but it was less planned with specific victims in mind and more, I’m pissed, and this person is in striking distance. Except, you know, I was pissed a lot, and there were usually plenty of people who happened to be around when this happened.”

She shrugs, and her voice is only slightly sarcastic in its cheerfulness, “But I’m doing much better now. Sure, too little, too late, but I’ve finally got a decent grip on my anger and control issues.”

“There’s still hope. I’ve been here for almost ten years. Pretty little white girl like you, you might just be able to get your death sentence overturned.”

“Nah. I managed to get on the wrong side of some powerful people. Besides, pretty soon, I’d be bored enough I’d start taking out guards and other prisoners.”

No, you wouldn’t, he thinks in disappointment. Boston girl still has genuine fire in her, but she’s also truly seen the light or whatever- During his podmate’s more stable moods where he doesn’t literally growl when he (Chris) comes within five feet of him, Beecher’s been on a kick about redemption, and if it weren’t for him needing to hang around Beecher to pay back his debt, he’d say, ‘You killed a kid, she’s never coming back, now, focus on your still alive kids. You caring what others think so much, you feeling you deserve more punishment than this place alone is doling out, that’s exactly how you ended up with Vern’s brand on your ass in the first place.’

…

“Hello, Faith. I’m Sister Peter Marie. Part of my job is to do mental health evaluations of all prisoners.”

“Oh, Christ,” Faith mutters. “Look, really meaning no offence, Sister, but even on death row I can’t escape nuns? There’s going to be one or more of you waiting for me in Hell, isn’t there?”

“We can keep this visit short, if you’d prefer,” Sister Pete says. “May I come in?”

“Yeah, sure.” Faith starts to stick her hands through the food slot.

“That’s not necessary,” Sister Pete says.

Nodding, Faith goes to sit on her cot.

Coming in, Sister Pete sits in the cell’s chair. “You believe you’re going to Hell?”

Rubbing her eyes, Faith sighs. “I’m genuinely curious: Did someone name you Peter Marie, or is that the name you took when you became a nun?”

Sister Pete answers.

“Huh. Good to know. Alright, look, Sister, I really don’t want to be marked down as uncooperative, but if me and you could not have to do this very often, that’d be great. I don’t know if God exists or not. I do believe literal demons and other evil supernatural creatures exist, but I ain’t blaming any of them for me being here. I had a rough life, I was angry, I did some evil things. I was sane when I did them, and I’m sane now.”

“You believe you’re beyond redemption?”

Faith laughs. “I have a friend who’s big on that. The concept of redemption. In his case, though, there were two different hims. Apparently, there’s some big fancy name for split personalities now, and some shrinks are even saying they don’t exist. Well, my friend’s did. I don’t know if the bad one will ever show back up, but what the bad one did, he had no control over.”

“But still, he’s always trying to make up for what he can’t make up for. Sure, it’s possible he might be right and I’m wrong, that definitely wouldn’t be the first time, and he’ll be rewarded someday while I’m rotting, but- honestly, I just don’t care enough. I realised I’d become this horrible person, and I realised, even if I could stay ahead of the law, I’d always be a danger to innocent people. So, I turned myself in, and now, I’m going to die soon.”

Sister Pete starts to say something, but Faith continues, “This girl I knew, she died more than once. She was drowned, but CPR brought her back. Then, she died protecting her little sis, but somehow, she’s still around. That tells me there’s a good chance there is something after death, and if so, then, no, I’m not going anywhere good.”

“What about your friend? What do you believe will happen to him when he dies?”

“I hope he ends up somewhere good. Before he got sick, he wasn’t that great of a person, but he wasn’t evil. The person he was and is, they aren’t responsible for what the bad- whatever it’d be called did. Like I said, Sister, I had a shitty life, and I didn’t know how to handle all the bad feelings inside me. They didn’t make me a nutcase, though, and there were people, good people, along the way who did try to help me, but I wouldn’t accept their help.”

After a moment, Sister Pete asks, “What makes you believe in demons and other supernatural creatures?”

“What makes you believe in God and angels?”

“My faith.”

“I’m not always great with words, Sister. I’ve never felt your God. Ever since I was little, too little to even remember how old I was, I’ve felt the evil in this world. Seen plenty, too. You know, physically, I’m incredibly strong. I have a kick-ass pain endurance. I’ve met other people who are special in different ways.”

“So, it isn’t a stretch for me to believe that there’s real magic in this world. That there are people who use it for good and people who use it for bad. And if there is magic, people who aren’t exactly human, it makes sense that it has to come from somewhere. I don’t know how you feel about it, but I imagine you’d say the good comes from God. I’d say good is just something that is, and some bad, it’s the same, but some comes from elsewhere.”

“Do you believe you’re not exactly human?”

Shaking her head, Faith laughs. “I’m human, Sister P.”

“How do you feel about being on death row? About the fact you’re going to be put to death?”

“Ask me when my execution day comes. I’ve never had any objections to the death penalty.”

“Do you believe you deserve to die?”

Faith leans back. “No one deserves to die, Sister. Death is another thing that just happens. Some people, they’ll never be anything but evil, and so, what’s the point of keeping them around? Always putting the innocent at risk? Some people, they’re worse than my friend ever was. They’re sick, rabid, with no hope of a cure, and maybe, that’s not their fault, but where’s the kindness to them or to the people they might hurt in keeping them around until death finally does come on its own?”

“And which describes you?”

“Neither. I did bad things, and I’m legit sorry. If I had another chance, I want to believe I could do better, not hurt any innocent people ever again. But if feeling bad was a get-off-death row card, well, there’d be crocodile tears a flowing, you feel me?”

“What about people who are innocent? The ones who’ve been wrongly convicted?”

“The first human I killed was an accident. I was out with a girlfriend, we were a little buzzed, and this guy attacked us. We gave chase, and I ended up stabbing this other guy who was just minding his own business in the heart. I dunno what the government should do when it ends up accidentally killing someone innocent. What I do know is that innocent people are going to die whether there’s a death penalty or not. At least, with the death penalty, some of the really evil ones do, too.”

“If you don’t have any objections, I’d like to talk to you once a week. If you’d like to talk more than that, I’ll be happy to make time for you.”

“Five by five, Sister.”

…

He’s cleaning when Mark Miles is brought in from the infirmary, and he makes a mental note to extract Beecher from Sister P’s after his work detail. Beecher’s had a bug up his ass about talking to Dr Nathan about some policy involving something, and even though it turns out it’s fun watching Beecher babble about shit he’ll never understand, he’s been keeping Beecher away from the infirmary.

Beecher thinks it’s to protect Beecher from anything Miles might do.

It’s to protect himself. Miles isn’t part of the brotherhood, but Vern, it turns out, has told every single member of said brotherhood about Operation Toby.

If Miles has somehow gotten wind of it, that’s the absolute last thing he needs.

Shifting his attention to Boston girl, he guesses Moses hasn’t told her much about Miles.

He listens, and yep-

Along with using a certain word in reference to her, Miles continues, “Hope you aren’t one of those politically correct types who objects to me calling a nig-”

“Yo, Brooklyn, move.”

Seeing the leftover tray in her hands, he moves, and damn, Boston girl can _throw_. And with impressive accuracy, too.

Of course, Miles has to be a pussy about the crack to his mural, but by the time the hacks come running, he’s managed to get the tray back in her cell.

…

“Hey, what can you tell me about this Adebisi guy?”

Moses, he reflects, really needs to stop being so star-struck and start laying some truths on her. “Got a type, Boston girl?”

Smiling, she comes over to trail her fingers over his arm. “Yeah. Fun. Don’t be jealous or like Miles. That’s not very fun.”

Setting his mop aside, he links their fingers together. “He ain’t fun. Married and has a tendency to stick his dick up other men’s asses.”

She shrugs. “I should care more about the first.”

Shaking his head, he moves closer. “One of them was unconscious at the time.”

“Hm.” Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, she lets go. “Do me a favour, alright, and try to make sure he doesn’t come back here. Sister P’s still on my ass about that ugly-ass wall painting.”

“It’s a mural! It’s-”

“Shut up, Miles,” he joins her and Moses in saying.

“You care about rape happening in a place like this, Faith,” Moses asks.

“I’m a woman,” is her tart response, but then, an expression that makes his heart twist painfully crosses her face. “But then-”

Moses moves over to the bars, and keeping a close eye on her, he resumes mopping as she goes to sit on her bunk.

…

“Hello, Faith.”

“Hey, Sister P.”

Sister Pete comes in. “I heard you were upset about Adebisi coming into here earlier.”

“Does rape happen often here?”

“Far too often,” Sister Pete sighs. “Did he-”

“He’d be dead if he’d tried anything,” is the calm response. “Do you care?”

“Yes. Very deeply. Unfortunately, certain people, many of whom are in much higher positions than I am, only care about keeping _reported_ rapes down. I try to do whatever I can to prevent it from happening and help those who have suffered it.”

Faith takes a deep breath. “So, this guy was under the influence of something. I don’t know exactly what I used to get him that way. My adoptive dad, he was not a good person, but he always looked out for me before I got myself put in a coma and he got himself killed.”

“He left me behind some powerful shit, and I used it on this girl I had a complicated history with and some of her friends and family. Including her boyfriend. He thought I was her, and since he was cute and I knew how much it’d destroy her, I almost- It got to the point where he was in his underwear, and I was just about to wiggle out of her panties before it hit me that, for everything I’d ever done, this would be rape, and I’d never gone that far.”

“Screwed a virgin who only lasted about five minutes, then, kicked him out once it was done when he was trying to talk about feelings, yeah, and maybe, that wasn’t great, but for those five minutes, he never gave any indication he wasn’t completely all in. Been with plenty of married men and ones with girlfriends. Literally whored myself out a few times.”

“But I had this thought, ‘What if someone switched their soul or mind or whatever makes me, me and I ended up in their body, them in mine. Then, they had sex, using my body.’ It took a longer time for me to realise, ‘What if I was with this person, might even love them, and either someone made me think they were this person or someone made this person think they were me?’”

“Rape by deception and rape by removing consent via the use of mind-altering substances are recognised legal concepts in many areas,” Sister Pete says. “What you did still falls under the definition of sexual assault, but the fact you were able and willing to stop before you crossed one of the biggest lines there is says something good about you.”

“No, it doesn’t. Good people can do bad things for a reason, Sister. And then, there are people like me who can do bad things with a million and one excuses. Occasionally, I stopped myself from going too far, but it wasn’t because of some goodness inside. It was practicality or being tired or getting bored or just thinking, ‘Hey, think of yourself and how the universe always tends to pay ya back eventually.’”

“There’s typically nuance to the decisions all people make. I’m not sure how much the nuance involved matters when someone chooses to do good as opposed to when they choose to do bad. Did the people you drugged all survive? If the girl and her boyfriend did, do you know if their relationship did, as well?”

“They all survived. And eventually, she and he split, but I really don’t think I had anything to do with that. They were together for a couple more years after what I did.”

“Have you ever tried making amends with them?”

“I saw her the day I turned myself in. She made it clear she never wanted to see or talk to me again. My friend, the one who helped me, I’ve kept in contact with him, and she and him are tight. So, if she ever wants to, she’ll know where I am. And if she comes, I’ll listen, try to give her the best apology I can, but I’m not going to call or send her a letter.”

“What about others you’ve harmed?”

Faith shrugs. “Good or bad, I didn’t care about most of the people I hurt one way or another, and even though I wish I hadn’t hurt them, I still don’t. They didn’t deserve to be hurt, but who they were, what kind of popcorn they liked, what their astrology sign was, I don’t tend to wonder about those sort of things.”

“Well, I have another appointment scheduled soon. I’ll have someone else deliver the meal trays from now on.”

“Sister- Look, I’m not asking for special treatment, but could you try to make it be someone who hasn’t done any rape? I know if we get a new cellmate who has, that’s something I’ll have to deal with, but otherwise?”

Smiling slightly, Sister Pete squeezes her hand. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.”

…

“As much as I don’t want to get my ass kicked by Boston, I’m calling bullshit,” Chris declares. “No way you made it with a Jewish Ivy Leaguer.”

Glancing up from her notepad, she twirls her pencil. “One, Moses doesn’t need me to take on you. I’d say you boys are pretty evenly matched. And two, even though I’m sceptical, too-”

He laughs at the betrayed sound Moses makes.

“I knew this Jewish girl who could’ve been an Ivy Leaguer, and someone like Moses, catch her on the right day, definitely would have had a shot. She was- well, she was a goody-goody who managed to get caught up in a slightly less goody-goody crowd. Nothing extreme, at least, not until I came along. But I’m talking cutesy sweaters, freakin’ pigtails, man, but definitely not the porn variety, and babbling ninety miles a minute about 1930s agriculture reform.”

The look on her face, God, does he sympathise. Toby- Beecher finally getting to talk to Dr Nathan flipped a switch, and now, if he wants to get Beecher to stop reading to pay attention to him, he has to listen to detailed breakdowns on things that he’s not sure how or why they came to Beecher’s attention in the first place.

Vern used to be big on Nazi literature, but he could break that down: Whites are good, whites had good ideas that no one listened to, and people continue to be in imminent danger if pure whites don’t start getting listened to right now.

Beecher, though, he cares about people, he likes all sorts of ideas, and even without being able to understand most of these ideas, Chris finds Beecher’s presentation much more compelling than Vern’s ever was.

Shaking these thoughts away, he says, “Okay, but from what Moses is saying, this one was a little more sophisticated than your friend.”

“Not my friend,” she replies.

“Yeah,” Moses says, “but, honestly, the girl I was with, what I gather, that sounds a lot like her in high school. Met her when she was almost done with her bachelors.”

Smiling slightly, she puts her pad away.

Yesterday, she wrote a few words, and then, she flushed the paper down the toilet. As far as he knows, she hasn’t gotten around to writing anymore words since.

“She wasn’t a keeper?”

“I wasn’t,” Moses answers.

He’s not going to argue, but he’s glad Miles isn’t around to agree. “Or you made the whole-”

He and Moses jump at the sound of a knock, but Boston girl just looks vaguely confused.

Beecher’s head pops in, and between the amusement and exasperation, he remembers no one’s come to collect the lunch trays yet.

“Hey, Keller, is Lopresti around? Sister Pete needs to talk to him, but she also needs to stay near her phone.”

“Hello.”

At least, Beecher is smart enough to be uneasy but not threatened enough to look ready to start sprouting rhymes.

Continuing smiling her almost soft, amused smile, she moves closer to the bars. “Not that I’m complaining about how you look, but I imagine a shave and haircut, and you’d be cute as a button. I’m Faith. Faith Lehane.”

“And he’s leaving,” he quickly says. “No, I have no clue where-”

“Hey, now,” she gives him a reproachful look, “don’t be like that. I don’t want to screw him.” She catches Beecher’s eyes. “Don’t take that personal. I know some girls who might really dig you, but right now, people like Keller or Moses are more my style.”

She doesn’t even know what Vern did, but what’s taken him weeks, getting Beecher interested, making him feel non-threatened, she’s done in less than five minutes.

Then, however, her face shifts. “Wait. He’s not like Adebisi, is he?”

“No,” he assures her. Moving closer to Beecher, he continues, “I promise you, he’s not. Please, don’t pick up your tray.”

“Keller?” Beecher gives him a look.

Meeting Moses' eyes and hoping this is enough to get him to keep his mouth shut, he says to Beecher, “Schibetta. When she heard about what Adebisi did, she made it clear she- come over here.” Carefully, he wraps a hand around Beecher’s wrist, and when Beecher doesn’t react badly, he tugs him over to Miles’ cell. “See the filled in part? Crack was about six inches deep. She doesn’t like the Aryans, either.”

His stomach twists at the relieved, almost- yearnful look on Beecher’s face. Beecher is unlikely to care she’s killed multiple people. She hates rape and Aryans, and the fact she’s flat-out declared a lack of sexual interest in him only makes her more appealing.

It’s not like he has a good reason to stop Beecher from walking over to shake her hand.

“Tobias Beecher.”

“They call you Toby?”

“My family does. Here, I’m just Beecher. Except for Sister Pete. With her, I’m Tobias.”

“So, what did you do?”

“Killed a little girl. I was driving drunk, and she rode out in front of me on her bicycle.”

“That’s rough. Also one of the few ways I’ve never hurt someone. I have driven despite the lack of ever having a driver’s license before, but I was never a danger behind the wheel.”

“Time to go, Beech. Why don’t you try-”

She waves him quiet. “He can stay a while longer. There’s something I like about him.”

“You liking him won’t save his ass when he doesn’t do his job.”

Oh, and wonderful, he clearly just touched a nerve in Beecher.

“I dunno, get me near anyone who-”

He never thought there’d be a day when he thanked God for Lopresti escorting Miles in, and he tries not to sigh when said hack and Beecher leave.

“Protective,” she comments.

“He’s my podmate.”

She raises an eyebrow, and he and Moses explain about Emerald City.

…

“Your execution date has been set.” Sister Pete tells her what day it is.

“That’s fast. Alright, I get to choose my method of execution, right?”

“Yes.”

“I want a single bullet through the head. No firing squad, hanging, lethal injection.”

“This might prove difficult. There are guidelines-”

Faith gives her a look. “Either I get to choose or I don’t. I can see there being limits when it comes to making sure that no one but the condemned dies, but put my head on a flat surface on a ground-level room, find someone who can hold the gun steady against my forehead and knows how to handle any recoil, and fire. I’m gone, no one’s hurt.”

“The person firing will be,” Sister Pete quietly says.

Scoffing, Faith’s look only intensifies. “There was a time I could have. I generally try not to go near your faith, Sister, but executioners have been around since very soon after the first caveman, or maybe, woman, killed another caveperson for whatever reason. Hell, for all anyone knows, maybe the first murder was the first execution. You want to believe most people are good, have at it, but maybe don’t waste your prayers or tears on someone who decided to do government-sanctioned killing for money.”

“And what about on you?”

“In all honesty, I don’t think either would work to save me from wherever I’m gonna be soon, but all the same, I appreciate the fact you’ve been nice to me, Sister. My limited experience with nuns and priests before you usually wasn’t good. No one molested me, but the fact I was a piece of shit who didn’t deserve to stand on the ground they graced to walk on, oh, that came across five by five.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Hey, I didn’t deserve that when I was a little kid, but you know, I could have proven them wrong. But I didn’t, and once I was all grown up with several kills under my belt, them thinking that was-”

“Still wrong,” is the firm response.

“Eh, moving on, what’s the guidelines for last meals?”

…

Doing push-ups, Boston girl complains, “I just don’t get why Sister P’s so gung-ho about me reading some stupid books.”

He’s not going to mention the fact Beecher is, too. Beecher might be _in love_ with her, and if so, he can’t exactly fault Beecher’s taste, but he sure as hell can fault Beecher’s judgement. Clearly, Vern is nothing special, just a long list in the line of people Beecher has foolishly liked and/or trusted.

Love, though, that’s something Vern will never have, not from Beecher.

Somehow, he’s not surprised when Beecher walks in with books in hand.

“Faith,” Beecher shyly greets.

I’m pretty sure she once tortured some pansy-ass lawyer, he often finds himself thinking during times like this.

There’s really no judgement if she did, but if the lack of any sort of evidence, only this vague suspicion, weren’t in play, he’d say this. ‘You remind her of someone she once hurt, Toby, and being nice to you is her way of trying to make up for this in the only way she can.’

Though, Beecher does have some legit metaphorical balls, even if it takes being crazy for them to fully come out, and so, maybe, he should just accept she’s more interested in a guy she doesn’t even want to screw than she is him.

“Um, I wanted to talk to you about your death sentence. I was litigation, but I know some lawyers who-”

“Hey, you want to help someone, help Moses. I’m good with what’s gonna happen.”

“Actually, my lawyer’s pretty good. She might end up killing me before the state does, but she’s been fighting like hell for years to get me off death row.”

Miles starts to respond.

“Shut it, Miles,” she says. “You’re a piece of shit with no redeeming qualities, and if me and Moses deserve to be here, then, you extra-definitely do. Even if Beecher here doesn’t hate you, I know my boy, Brooklyn, will, at least, watch out for him enough to make sure he doesn’t waste anything on you.”

Beecher looks at him. “Brooklyn?”

“I spent some time there as a kid. Boston girl has an ear or just plain sense for this type of thing.”

“Yep,” she cheerfully agrees.

“Okay, well, I also brought these books, and Sister P would really appreciate it if you’d-”

“You got somewhere to be, Beecher? Cause, I’m not reading them, but if you wanted to read them to me, I’d be down with that.”

“Sure,” Beecher agrees.

He almost thinks this is a sign crazy Beecher is back, but then, he remembers: Beecher has kids.

Boston girl sure as hell ain’t no sweet, innocent little kid, but yeah, he can see why, out of everything Beecher’s been through, reading to a grown-ass woman wouldn’t be something he’d feel any need to object to.

“Cool.”

She moves her bed over to the bars, and based on her reaction when she takes in their expressions, this wasn’t her showing off. She didn’t even stop to think a woman in the low 100s weight-wise literally picking up a bed and carrying it over as if it were the box of books Beecher came in with is a noteworthy sight.

“What? I don’t want to get bitched at for leaving scuff marks on the floor.” Flopping down, she smiles up wickedly at Beecher.

Beecher goes to get a chair, and sitting down, he starts reading.

…

_I love you_, keeps going through his head.

No, you don’t, is the constant counter. You bought the fantasy, Toby-boy, and you love it.

I can be anything you want me to be. For a little while, at least. But white-bred lawyer with three beautiful kids, you’d never look at a scumbag like me on the outside, and if you did, it’d be to call the cops.

He made the mistake of falling for the mark, a little, but nothing’s been damaged. Keep on track, it’ll all go smooth.

Toby testifies, he gets life as opposed to 88 years; that’s not a big loss. Toby doesn’t testify-

It wouldn’t ruin things if he let himself have one time. He could do what Vern did, only, Toby’d actually want it, would allow it not out of fear or resignation. He could make it good. Make it slow, soft, all about finding out the best spots to stroke or add the right amount of non-threatening, non-painful pressure to, or he could let Toby be the one on top.

These thoughts all vanish when he walks into the unit to see Boston girl’s pissed face glaring at him.

“Don’t bother telling me how screwed this is, but I almost feel like wondering if you and Beech have been cheating might fit. Where in the hell have you both been? There’s been this creepy-ass ginger boy who’d give the omen kid a run for his money, and Sister P’s been avoiding my questions of what’s going on with both of you. Oh, and by the way, I’m going to need some-”

“You’re not doing an exorcism on Timmy, Faith,” Moses says. “And speaking of, you’re thinking of The Exorcism. Creepy preteen girl named Regan.”

“Hate Hollywood horror movies,” is her grouchy reply before she continues to stare daggers at him.

“Shit happens,” he offers. “I got sent to the hole.”

Miles is thankfully content to keep working on his oh-so-precious mural without any comments, but both Boston and Moses give him these _looks_.

“What about Beecher?”

Shrugging, he gets to work.

Beecher’s perpetually drunk. His kids needing their daddy to read them bedtimes stories, cut their food up, teach the baby how to one day ride a bike, none of that stopped him from drinking his life away and hitting a kid on a bike instead. Why would he and Boston girl be any different than those innocent three who literally needed him?

He’d told Vern he was the key, not alcohol, and look at how wrong he was. If Beecher loved him, he’d want to be strong for him. Being rejected, that hurting like a mother is the whole point, but for someone who just loves to talk, Beecher’s been in a bottle, stayed there, instead of trying to have a calm, reasonable discussion, or maybe even preferably, a hurt but persistent one with anger or sadness rather than alcohol fuelling it, about feelings and where they stand.

Vern doesn’t need to know, realise, any of this. Vern will get what Vern wants, just like always.

When it’s time to leave, he knows he shouldn’t walk near her cell, and he’s not sure if he decided to or really ended up going over by muscle memory, but straining her arm out, she manages to grab his.

“I’d say too bad we have an audience, but I don’t think that’ll bother you anymore than it would me,” he comments.

It lessens the potential fun when she simply pulls him close enough to knock his hand away from where he’s working on opening his jeans with her free hand.

“Don’t do it, Keller,” she softly says, and her eyes are sad.

The grip on his arm is firm but not painful, and he knows she’s not letting go until she’s had her say. He can leave with his arm intact or not.

Too bad Vern won’t be so generous with Beecher.

“Do what?”

“I don’t know. Look, even if I did, I’m not a snitch. You do what you have to, but I’m telling you, Brooklyn, you do whatever you’re planning with Beecher, and you will regret it. In ways you don’t even understand. Trust me, I’ve done the whole befriend and betray thing, and there’s this horrible price.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe, he’ll forgive you. I have one friend, one real, true friend in this world. This guy, I hurt him, hurt his girl, his friends, I made his life hell several times over. Somehow, though, he still saw something in me worth saving. But what I did will always be part of everything. Yeah, I know, I’m dying, and I might never see or talk to him again.”

“If I did, though, there’d be some part of him that could never fully trust me. I’m always going to wonder how good our relationship might be if I hadn’t done all that. Just like I have to live with the fact I hurt good people, people who cared about me, might have been able to love me, and now, in some ways, I’m less than nothing to them.”

“Are you in love with this friend?”

“No,” she answers, and he’s not sure how to feel about the fact he can’t detect any trace of deceit. “Might have been in love with someone else, though. How the hell should I know? I’m not sure what being in love feels like or how it’s supposed to feel. But that doesn’t matter, ‘cause, if this person heard I was on death row, they’d be calling or writing letters to see if there was any possible way my execution could be moved up to the very next day.”

“Picked a keeper,” he says.

“They aren’t Beecher, that’s for sure. Really think about it, okay? You still have time. You haven’t done what you’re planning, yet. Once you do- Would it be better if he never talked to you, tried to pay you back, or if you could make things right as much as possible, but still, you’d always wonder if what you did would pop up again one day? ‘Cause, trust me, chances are good it will.”

Suddenly, he’s just tired and maybe a little shaky inside. “How’d you know?”

“Hey, neither of us got here by accident, pal,” she answers with a small smile. “I’ve seen the way you look at him. Most people could peg the love. I just happen to be able to see what else is there. Not as nice to look at.”

“And him? What do you see when he looks at me?”

She lets go of his arm. “This is one of those moments, Brooklyn boy. The type everyone wishes they’d had before they do something really mother-effing stupid or screwy.” Her eyes bore into his. “You’re strong and smart and you can get through whatever not doing this will bring. So, don’t do it. You lose him, you’ll still have you, and trust me, that can sound better than you’re thinking. Or it can be worse.”

Going over, she sits on her bed.

…

Seeing Metzger is busy with Rebadow and Busmalis, he feels a small sense of relief and hope.

Question is, though, if Metzger’s not hovering near Beecher, where is Beecher?

He swears, if Vern decided to do something without them, forget any complicated feelings for Beecher, he’s killing Vern for going off-script.

“Hello, Keller.”

Jumping, he sees Redabow has come over, and Busmalis is still talking to Metzger, if ‘talking’ can be translated into Busmalis is obviously babbling away while Metzger looks as if he’s about to unholster his gun in the middle of the quad at any second.

“You hurt Tobias badly.”

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to see if I can make things right. You know where he is?”

…

In the hallway near the library, he spots Beecher.

“Toby!”

Sighing, Beecher looks at him with tired, though, sober, eyes. “Chris. Keller. What do you-”

Carefully, he puts his hand on Toby’s shoulder, and taking the lack of flinching or worse as a good sign, he lets himself briefly run a hand through Beecher’s hair.

“Here’s the truth, Toby: I’ve never felt the way I do for you for another man. And I haven’t exactly been handling that well. But neither have you.”

Toby sighs again, and Christ, he looks close to crying. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“So, let’s go to the infirmary, alright? I’m glad to see you’re sober right now, but we both know detox is going to be a bitch. Once you’re out, we can talk.”

“If you want another podmate, just go to McManus,” is the cold response. “I won’t object.”

“Come on, Toby. We both know, if that’s what I wanted, I’d’ve already done it. What I want is you safe and all in when we have such an important talk.”

If Toby ever agrees to talk to him again, at least, the first will be in play. What Boston girl didn’t say, however, was: Even if he doesn’t go through, the knowledge he had such a plan will make sure there’s never full trust.

“Okay,” Toby agrees.

He wants so badly to kiss him, but- no.

“Good.” He slings an arm over Toby’s shoulders.

…

“It should take about three days, no more than a full week,” Dr Nathan says. “Unfortunately, you’ll need to be cuffed.”

He starts to object, but Toby nods. “Yeah. I understand.”

She wraps something, it looks like maybe some type of fabric, around Toby’s left ankle. “Officer.”

The hack cuffs over the wrapping.

“When you need the bathroom and when it’s time to shower, someone will have to be with you. I’ll see if I can get Keller permission to visit you, but otherwise, no visitors.”

“Got it, doc.”

Giving Toby a sympathetic smile, she squeezes his shoulder. “It won’t be too bad. You came in before detox would have been really ugly.”

Running a hand through Toby’s hair, he asks, “Can I talk to you privately, Dr Nathan?”

Nodding, she motions to her office.

When they get inside, he says, “He’s in danger. Not from the drinking. Vern Schillinger has a plan to badly hurt him. And-” He hesitates. “I was supposed to be part of that plan.”

…

Toby walks into death row with some books and a chair, and Faith huffs. “Oh, nice for one of you two to finally show up. I swear, I have to deal with that Samara redhead one more time-”

“You’re thinking of The Ring, now,” Moses says. “Creepy little girl who climbs out of the TV.”

She moves her bed over to the bars. “Point is, kid is whack, and if I can’t do an exorcism, I want someone else doing the cleaning. Nice to see you, though, law-boy. Where in the hell have you been?”

“Keller’s in protective custody.” Toby walks over. “Did you know what he was planning?”

“No. What was he planning?”

He sits down. “When I first came here, this man, Vern Schillinger, hurt me. Repeatedly. Eventually, I fought back. He and Keller go back, and when Keller was sentenced here, he enlisted him to help with a plan to break me. Get hooked back on alcohol, humiliate me, and then, break my arms and legs.”

“Christ,” she mutters. Gentle hands touch his arms. “Sorry, Beech. I’ll be honest, I did know he was planning something. People like him and me usually have a sense for when someone like us is about to do something to raise hell, and I could see he was struggling hard with whether to go through with things. But no, I didn’t know that was the plan.”

Miles starts to say something, and taking one of the books, she raises it menacingly.

He closes his mouth, and Toby extracts the book back.

“Want me to read to you?”

“Please.”

…

When Toby leaves, Faith asks, “Does PC have a good track of keeping inmates safe here?”

“Yeah," Moses answers. "Don’t worry. Beecher’s dad is a partner at a law firm. He’s up the warden’s ass since certain things Beecher went through last year came out. Besides, McManus and your girl, Sister P, both would love to either throw Schillinger in solitary indefinitely or see him transferred. Keller testifies, one of those will happen.”

He continues, “You should probably focus on your upcoming execution. You still not planning to call anyone?”

“Nah. I don’t need a witness, and I don’t have any sentimental attachment to any of my belongings.” Glancing around the cell, she rolls her eyes.

“It ain’t right," he says.

“Of course, the-”

“Miles, I swear, in my meagre belongings, I have two shoes. Think I’ll need both to hit your head hard enough to make you fall to the floor like a ton of bricks?”

“I’ll be glad when you’re gone,” Miles retorts with some unflattering words mixed in.

“Hey, one good thing about being gone is I won’t have to deal with you, anymore. So, feeling’s mutual, I guess.”

“Can I vote for you knocking him unconscious? I’ll throw you my shoe, and you can toss it in with yours.”

“The problem with that plan, black boy, is-”

…

Aside from the death glare Toby sends, the first Chris notices is: “Yo, Boston girl, why do you and Moses have no shoes?”

Quietly saying goodbye to her, Toby gathers up his books.

“Toby-” He reaches out.

Twisting away, Toby sharply says, “Don’t.”

No use chasing after him.

“Good to see you out, Brooklyn.”

Going over, he clasps her hand. “I should be thanking you. I played on Sister Pete’s sympathies about wanting to see my friend, especially so close to her execution.”

“Nice.” Then, her smile turns sympathetic, and she glances at the door. “Not so good with him, though, is it?”

“I have time. Much more than you.”

“What’s worth dying for to you, Brooklyn?”

There are plenty of good replies in his head, but he finds himself answering the truth, “Love.”

He is afraid of death, of dying, but he’s risked his life for people he loved, and he would again. In those moments, they meant more than his life.

“Hm.” She starts pacing. “See, the thing with me is: I don’t have that. My friend on the outside doesn’t need me to protect him. My old girlfriend, the one who hates my guts, she’d probably throw me in front of whatever was attacking before I could make the choice to throw myself. And anyone else- well, point is, all I got is what I owe.”

“Justice of some sort for all the bad I’ve done. I can pay it sitting in prison ‘til I’m old and gray, or I can die by a bullet to the head. It really doesn’t matter which. Either way, I’m all out of hope.”

“You could escape.”

On some level, he’s always been against the death penalty, but even if Toby does ever talk to him again, this is something he won’t be bringing up.

Now, though- he just wants her to keep living.

“Nah. Tried that several times. You start running, you never really stop, right? Never really bought that, but then, look at where I am compared to all the people who said that.”

The door opens, and turning, he hopes it’s Toby.

It’s Sister Pete and a hack.

“Faith, you have a visitor.”

“Uh-huh. Sister, do me a favour and have holy water tossed on this visitor, okay? And also, see where that Mary Shelley-”

“That’s the writer of Frankenstein,” Moses supplies.

“Right, the doctor who created the monster?”

“Good.” Moses smiles approvingly.

“I thought Frankenstein was the monster?”

“Oh, babe,” she sighs. “Never say that to Toby.”

“Actually,” Moses says, “that might not be a bad idea, Keller. There’s a chance Beecher’ll feel the urge to impart such valuable knowledge that he’ll stow the whole being pissed thing for a little bit.”

Sister Pete looks pretty calm for someone who is clearly wondering if she just entered into the psych ward rather than death row, he reflects.

“Faith, your visitor is a man named Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. He asked me to inform you that he has a message from Angel?”

She stopped breathing for a second. One of them must be her friend from the outside, and the other- the other’s also important.

“Cuffs?”

Sister Pete nods, and Boston girl sticks her wrists through the slot.

“But first-” Sister Pete holds up some shoes. “I managed to argue for their return to you.”

He suddenly realises Miles has two black eyes, and he guesses this explains why Miles has been quieter than usual.

…

In the doorway of the visiting room, Faith smiles tentatively at Wesley as the cuffs are undone.

Coming over, she sits down, and when he follows suit, she says, “Hey, Wes. I thought about writing you a letter. Even tried starting one. But that didn’t work out.”

“Hello, Faith. Believe it or not, I was surprised to hear you were here.”

“Not that many women on death row. My old prison didn’t have a wing for death row inmates. Gotta say, Wes, no matter how long I have or don’t have, I never thought I'd live long enough to see you paying me a visit.”

“How are you?”

“Five by five. Made some friends. I’m constantly resisting the urge to kill this one jackass in my cellblock, but holding strong. There’s this one inmate, he’d remind me of Willow if not for the fact I think he might be possessed. If you want to look into that on your way out, that might net Team Angel a win. Speaking of, uh, so, you have a message from Angel?”

“What’s your plan, Faith?”

Sighing, she leans back. “I’m going to die, Wesley. Didn’t plan on having a witness, but you want to be there, hell, you want to pull the trigger, go ahead. It’s not my choice, but I’m not fighting it.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“To be honest, I don’t care. Um, but speaking of that- as far as I know, I haven’t died before. B’s stab wound didn’t cause me to code. Another slayer will be activated.”

“All the shit I did, it’s on me, and I’m not denying that. What I am saying is- When she’s found, remember that there were certain things you could have handled better. Differently. And the council’s done some screwy things, too, we both know that. If she’s like me, put her down before she can get to how bad I got. If she’s not, though, do better, alright?”

“Does this mean your reformation isn’t genuine?”

“I’m me,” is her matter-of-fact response. “I didn’t stop until I crossed almost every line there was to cross. And even with that, there’s no real rock bottom for me. You throw me in a pit, and I’ll either climb out or punch a hole into the ground to jump in. It’s a toss-up, but usually, the second happens.”

“Yes, well, we need you to jump out, Faith. Angel is gone. Angelus is back.”

For a long moment, she sits frozen, and then, looking back, she sees Sister Pete giving her a concerned look. Shaking her head, she turns back to Wesley. “Alright, you want me in the game, then, you’re going to need to trust me on a few things, Wes. I’m not asking forgiveness, and I ain’t looking to be a leader. But there are going to be some lines I won’t cross, and I need you to trust I can get this done without.”

He nods. “Fair enough.”

“I’m guessing you know where death row is in this place?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a window in there. You following?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Give me thirty minutes or less to get everything wrapped here.”

“I understand.”

She stands, and he follows suit. “Goodbye, Wes.”

…

“Sister P, I don’t mean to be short, but I don’t want to talk right now. I just want to enjoy some banter with Keller here, and then, when he leaves, try to work through things in my head. You can take my shoes, I’m not going to take anything out on Miles this time.”

“Could I get that in writing?”

Miles is getting smarter. No words beginning with ‘c’ or ‘b’ were uttered this time.

“I’ll come by before lights out.” Sister P sticks her hand through the bars.

Nodding, Boston girl comes over to squeeze it.

Once the sister leaves, he observes, “She thinks something’s up.”

“She’s right. Alright, look, Miles, once I’m gone, say whatever. I don’t care. But right now, snitches would get a whole hell of a lot more than stitches. You dig?”

Miles stands protectively in front of his mural.

He watches as she pulls her cell door open.

“Turns out, I’m escaping. But first-”

Her kisses and the feel of her in his arms- Damn, it’s almost like it was with Bonnie, and he can’t help but gasp when she moves away.

“Really sorry we can’t do more, Brooklyn. You’re right, I wouldn’t mind the audience, but unfortunately, there isn’t enough time for it to be what we’d deserve.”

Taking the bottle of cleaner, she tosses it at the window, and it sails through with glass shattering into tiny pieces all over the floor.

“Hey, Moses, you wanna come with?”

“Hell, yeah.” Moses moves away from his cell door.

As she opens it, he finds himself saying, “After that kiss, I’m hurt you’re choosing him over me, Boston.”

Laughing, she takes Moses’ hand. “I’m not. Hey, you wanna come, I got no problem making two trips. But you should know, once we’re out, we’re separating. You got nothing and no one, no reason to stay?”

Put it like that- her leaving isn’t going to put him on death row. Out there, there’s a good chance he’d be caught quickly, and even if he does make it to Canada or somewhere largely English-speaking with enough white people that he’s not a minority, he’s realistic enough to know he’d probably get himself in legal trouble there soon enough.

Here, there’s Toby, and he might have a chance at one day-

“Take care.”

“You too,” she says. “Now, Moses, here’s something I don’t usually say to guys: Stay on top.”

How in the hell she manages to get herself and Moses up to the window, never mind balance on the still once she does, he’ll never be able to comprehend.

Then, out the too-narrow window they manage to go, and there’s a sound of a car alarm blaring outside.

…

Moses carefully, gingerly, climbs off Faith, and helping her off the car, he asks, “You good?”

“Five by five. You?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

She points. “Go that way. And try to- Just take care of yourself, alright?”

He kisses her cheek. “Thanks, Faith. Hey, you too, yeah?”

Once he’s gone, she goes over to get into Wesley’s car.

“Who was that?”

“Let’s go with: I needed a human shield. And now, he’s no one. Just drive, Wes.”

He drives in the opposite direction Moses went.

…

Chris is reading when Toby startles him by squeezing his arm.

Handing him a pair of headphones, Toby nods towards the TV, and seeing a picture of Boston girl, he quickly puts them on.

“Lehane will be returned to the Oswald State Penitentiary on Monday to await her execution. Efforts to locate Deyell have continued to be unsuccessful with Lehane claiming she and Deyell split up shortly after their escape. In other news…”

Taking off the headphones, he asks, “She turned herself in?”

Toby nods. “After L.A.’s weather patterns got back to normal, she walked into the same precinct she turned herself into the first time.”

…

Sitting down next to her cell, Toby hands Faith a note. “From Keller.”

“Oh. You two speaking?”

“It’s for you. You think I’m going to say no, especially with-” He looks down.

“Hey.” She gently butts her head against his. “Look, I always knew I was gonna die young. Just focus on getting out of here and being a good dad to your kids. I never had a dad, you know. Didn’t really have much of a mom, either, for the short time she was alive.”

She opens the letter. “Oh, come on. When that Red Room kid ends up blowing this place up, someone’s going to wish they’d listened to me!”

Toby looks at her quizzically.

“Kid on a trike in a hotel?”

“Redrum. The Shining. And the character, Danny, isn’t evil or possessed. He just has psychic visions.”

“Yeah, well, he was creepy as-”

The door opens, and she slips the letter under her pillow.

Coming in with a guard carrying a box, Sister Pete says, “Hello, Tobias, Faith. Miles.”

Waving, Faith responds, “How’s it hanging, Sister P?”

Giving her a sad smile, Sister Pete digs a jewellery box out of her pocket. “This came for you in the mail. There was no note, but the packaging said Buffy Summers.”

Opening it, Faith takes out a sterling-silver cross necklace. “That’s my girl.” She puts it on.

“Here are the clothes and makeup you requested for tomorrow.” Sister Pete motions for the guard to unlock the cell.

Faith starts to change, and Sister Pete says, “Tobias-”

“C’mon, Sister, he ain’t even looking. Not that I’d care, granted, but he just doesn’t get me all wet and juicy. Gotta say, though, I love the shave and haircut, Beech. Maybe keep that style going for a while. How do I look?”

“You, uh-” Toby hesitates.

“Yeah, I know, it’s not really me. My adoptive dad gave this to me. He was a bad person who had evil, whole lot of innocent people are gonna die plans, and it’s good he was stopped. The fact him dying was the only way to stop him- I’ve made peace with him being gone. But I loved him, and he did love me.”

“It looks very nice on you, Faith,” Sister Pete says.

“Thanks.” She starts to change. “If I can’t have hangers, could you hang them in your office, Sister? I’ll do my nails before bed, do my makeup after breakfast. My last meal.”

“Of course. If you want, I’ll leave you and Tobias alone for right now.”

“What about Keller,” Toby asks. “Sister Peter-”

“Nah. Last time I saw him, that’s how I want him to remember me, how I want to remember him. And that’d be great, thanks, Sister P.” Sitting, she squeezes Toby’s hand.

…

“Faith.” Sister Pete shakes her awake.

“Sister Pete, it’s- I just got to sleep about twenty minutes ago.” Rubbing at her eyes, she sits up. “Do you want me to be tired and grumpy on the day I’m- which is technically today. What gives, Sister?”

“Wonderful news.”

“You’re going to give me a few bottles of Jack, some sleeping pills, and let my death sentence be carried out while I’m passed out?” She blinks. “Wait, would I even want that?”

“Not only has your death sentence been overturned, but you’ve been pardoned by a governor. I don’t recall-”

“Okay, you know what? If that damn cheese-man shows up, I’m staking him. You, you go away. If I’m doing the whole dream thing the Scoobies went through, that means that Lassie boy is responsible, and maybe, if I can find him here, I can stake him and rid this place of him.”

“Faith, you’re not staking Timmy Kirk.” Smiling, she brushes a strand of hair out of Faith’s face. “You told me, whenever you see clocks in your dreams, it’s always the same time. What time is that?”

“7:30.”

“Look at my watch, Faith.”

She does. “Huh.”

“Some people from the law firm, Wolfram and Hart-”

Wide-eyed, Faith grabs Sister Pete’s wrist, and then, quickly lets go. “No. Sister Peter, I need you to trust me when I say: That evil we’ve talked about before? It’s in that law firm. It built it, and the people in it, they carry on. It’s better that I die in a few hours, Sister, than- Maybe my soul can’t be saved, but it’s as clean as it’s going to get. They’d-” She shakes her head.

Sister Pete nods. “Your friend, Angel, warned me you’d have a bad reaction. He asked me to show you this.” She digs a blackberry out of her pocket, and pressing a button, she turns it towards Faith.

Angel and Wesley fill the screen in an office with sunlight streaming from the window behind them.

“Hello, Faith,” Wesley says. “As you can see, Wolfram and Hart have very advanced windows to accommodate Angel’s sun allergy. I know some of what your past interactions with this firm were like from Lilah Morgan. The cross Buffy sent was a peace-offering, a hope for a new start between the two of you, not a-”

“Faith, I’m coming to meet you,” Angel cuts in. “Don’t worry, this isn’t a trick. Look at the back of the-” He glances at Wesley.

“Blackberry.”

She turns it over, and seeing the cross engraved along the with the painted runes, she looks at Sister Peter’s bare hands. “The person who gave this to you, were they wearing gloves?”

“Yes. Your friend, Angel. He told me a little about Angelus.”

…

Once the door’s closed, Angel greets, “Hey.”

“Yo. What’s going on, Angel? Never mind I told you not to interfere with my death sentence, what in the hell are you doing apparently running with Wolfram and Hart?”

He motions for her to sit, and when she does, he follows suit. “Whatever the answer, this is going to be a weird question: What do you know about Connor?”

“Your teenage son you had with your now-dead vampire ex-girlfriend a few months ago? Not very much. Kid’s a decent fighter, not trying to wash over anything I did wrong to Cordy, but it has to be said, has terrible taste in women, just like his old man, and he sleep-talks in some weird language, which I know from literally sleeping next to him on a mission. Swear to you, I haven’t gone for jailbait since I fit the label, too.”

Sighing, he looks at her with a mixture of relief and sadness. “Now, he’s- the inverse of Dawn. Everyone remembers her, and almost no one remembers him.”

“Who am I talking to here? Look in your eyes, I’m not seeing Angelus, but you’re sounding dangerously someone’s messed with your mind here.”

“Not my mind,” he says. “This will sound crazy, but: Cordelia was possessed. The thing possessing her seduced Connor and used Cordy’s body to give birth to a creature. Jasmine. She took over the world until we stopped her. Then, Connor- had a nervous breakdown. He did some bad things, but I managed to contain him.”

“Wolfram and Hart didn’t want Jasmine around. She was consuming souls, but everyone else was peaceful due to her brainwashing. There was a sort of world peace happening. We stopped her, they offered us a chance to no-strings attached run their L.A. branch.”

“There are always strings.”

“He’s my son, Faith.”

“So the hell what,” she demands. Getting up, she starts pacing. “You’re not going to twist this into me not understanding or being capable of goodness. Flesh-and-blood doesn’t mean shit, Angel. Hey, if your bio family is good, by all means, stick around. Protect them. But if they aren’t, nothing is owed because of some shared DNA. Go back far enough, and the first humans were all family.”

“I’m sorry your kid was taken. I’m sorry he came back messed up, and I hate the fact he and Cordelia were both raped. I’m glad you stopped this threat I can’t even remember. But you made deals with literal devils for him?”

“You left your own family? We’ve never gotten around to that conversation.”

“You tried, once. I blew you off. I would have. I hated how weak my mother was. I wanted better for myself. I’d tell myself I deserved better.”

“You did,” he gently says.

“Yeah, well, debatable. But I had plans. She had to go die on me. Yeah, I cried. It hurt. And then, I’m being real when I say I hardly ever thought about her afterwards. If I ever meet my bio dad, I won’t care. Maybe, he’s decent. Maybe, he’s not. Maybe, he would have done right by me and her if he’d known. Maybe, he did know, and he chose not to. It doesn’t matter, ‘cause, he’d be nothing but a stranger.”

“And that’s all the kid who came back was,” she says. “A stranger who hated you. Wasn’t either of your faults, but when he locked your ass in a trunk, tossed you into the lake to slowly starve, put you at risk of it coming open during the day, then- should have let someone do something, then, Angel.”

“Eventually, I did,” he says. “Wolfram and Hart gave him what I wanted to: A good family. All the opportunities there are. Safety. He’s happy and healthy, and not remembering him has made things better for Wesley, Fred, and Gunn.”

“Heard what you did to Wesley,” she quietly says. “You, not Angelus. It wasn’t his fault your boy got kidnapped by a psychopath. He isn’t one. We both know he was going to take that baby somewhere safe. Because, he loved you, he bought into that blood is important crap, and he wanted to protect both you and your innocent blood.”

“You’ll always be in his corner, won’t you?”

“No,” she says. “Wes goes off the reservation, it’ll hurt. Who knows, I might even cry. But I’ll be there to take any means necessary to take him down. Just like I was with you.”

“Can’t do that if you’re dead.”

Letting out another sigh, she sits down. “Why do I remember Connor if the others don’t?”

“Because, I need someone I can trust to know the whole story. And it doesn’t hurt you like it would any of the others.”

“Okay, but you think it’s right taking away Cordy’s memories like this? I mean, I’m assuming the others didn’t agree to have their memory wiped. If she did, her choice. But she was raped, had the thing that rape produced, and then, you decided for her she should forget, be different?”

He covers his eyes. “Cordelia’s in a coma. No one I’ve talked to, human doctors or people I trust on the magic side, know if she’ll ever come out.”

She squeezes his hand. “Sorry.”

Looking back at her, he says, “Agreeing with Wolfram and Hart might end up being a big mistake, but I’m hoping we really can use this as an opportunity to change things for the better. Buffy has her hands full in Sunnydale. If you could go help her-”

“You think B would work with me? She freakin’ stabbed me, man. Which, five by five, I deserved. But you toss in me trying to kill her multiple times, trying to screw her boyfriends multiple times, threatening her friends and family, again, multiple times, and-”

“Wes still hates me, you know. Me and him, we worked together, but that was limited time, he needed someone who, yeah, would be in his corner. Still, I could see every time he looked at me, he was remembering, and he was hating me, and worse, himself. I’m guessing B still has the Scoobies and that, Dawn highjinks done by a god aside, she hasn’t made the call to erase all of their memories about something huge.”

He shrugs. “You’re free, Faith. You told me not to interfere. I interfered. You helped bring me back. I’m asking you to try to work with Buffy.”

“What did you do to get me this pardon?”

“I’m being honest when I say: Nothing bad. Or at least, not too bad. We have multiple politicians in our pocket now. Gunn submitted a petition or filing, something legal, for your pardon, and Governor Erbe signed it. No questions, no hesitation. He’s not even sure the governor read what was being signed once she saw the Wolfram and Hart letterhead.”

“Other than that, she clean?”

“She sold her soul. Gunn’s working on that. He’s a lawyer, now.”

“Makes sense.”

He gives her a questioning look.

“Oh, come on, Angel. He’s been a street-rat his whole life. Which, as a fellow street-rat, I can say. Me and him might not know all these big fancy Latin words, but we know what the law really is, we have a decent grasp of what the rich white men try to play that it is, and we have an okay grasp on what certain procedures in court are. In his case, doesn’t hurt that he cleans up good, looks damn fine in a suit-and-tie. I’m guessing, along with taking away memories of Connor, they put some knowledge in him?”

“Uh, yeah,” he answers.

“Hope there aren’t unforeseen side-effects,” she comments.

“Will you help me out here? Try to help Buffy?”

She’s quiet for a long minute. “Think I could get one more favour in before I head to Sunny D to see little Miss Blondie?”

…

“This is exciting.” Sister Pete carefully finishes painting Faith’s fingernail.

“Is it?”

“If you need help getting back on your feet-”

“No. That girl who sent me the necklace? She’s the one whose boyfriend I almost raped. I thought she sent me the cross, because, even with no brain, no head, really, I was worried that something evil might take over my dead body. Even with being iffy about God’s existence, I do believe crosses can be a charm against evil. She shares some of my beliefs, and even with how much she hates me, she wouldn’t want me to go through that.”

“It turns out, her uncle is starting a security business. All legit. But they do need some muscle. So, while he’s not my biggest fan, either, he and Angel have a long history, and with Angel vouching for me, I have a job if I want it.”

“Are you going to take it?”

“Yeah. I know she’ll try to be cool, because, her uncle’s more of her dad than her dad ever was. Look, Sister, I get you having a sincere beef with the death penalty. I don’t understand it, but I see it’s a big part of you. Me, though, I’m guilty of every crime that got me here and some more that didn’t.”

“Now, in a few hours, I’m walking out completely free. No probation, no parole, no felonies on my record, ‘cause, I was either smart or lucky enough to avoid any before I got sentenced for all this.”

“You don’t strike me as that much of a bleeding heart. You do believe people should pay for their crimes. I’ve done less than ten years, barely five. Think that’s fair?”

Starting another nail, Sister Pete is quiet for a moment. “I believe the law should protect innocent people and give justice to those that it couldn’t. I know the law often does neither. I do believe people should take responsibility for and accept the consequences of their actions, but I’m not sure that throwing people in jail or prison often does good.”

“There are people who do need to be segregated from society at large. Some of them, I do believe, with the proper help, they’d cease being a danger to others. And yes, as much as I don’t like it, I will agree with you that some people are simply evil and will be so until the day they die.”

“But then, there are many times I see people like you, bright, principled, don’t scoff, and I wonder: If they’d had a good home, if they’d had people who protected them the way children should be protected, what kind of person would they be? If education, healthcare, plenty of food, other opportunities had been truly extended to them, what sort of things might they have done?”

“I have extremely mixed feelings about the laws regarding narcotics,” Sister Pete continues. “What I do know is, addiction is a mixture of biological and psychological factors in play, not necessarily a moral failing. I could work on the outside trying to change things, but the truth is, I’m simply not one for political activism, or I could try to directly help those within the system in whatever ways I can without getting myself in legal trouble or compromising my own moral beliefs.”

“And that leads to: I don’t know if your pardon is fair or not. What I do know is that I hope you make the most of it. I hope you make a good life for yourself, Faith, and that, you’ll not only refrain from hurting people, but that you’ll try to help people. I don’t mean saving the world. No one person deserves that on their shoulders.”

Faith briefly covers her mouth with her free hand.

“But that you’ll show everyday kindness to others. That if you see someone you can help without it requiring too much, you’ll give it. And I believe God eventually calls all His children home. I have a feeling I’ll see you, again, someday, Faith, when both of our times are up. Thankfully, for you, that’s unlikely to be in a few hours.”

She starts on the other hand.

“Thanks, Sister Peter. For always being nice to me. Trying to help. It means a lot.”

…

“Sign this, and you-”

Screaming makes Faith and Sister Pete jump.

Digging his heels in, Timmy smiles malevolently at Faith. “Your watcher will die by a dragon, held in a false image of his true love’s arms.”

“Okay, that’s cool. Sister, good luck with this one.”

Groaning as he struggles, one of the guards shakes his head. “He’s being transferred to a private facility.”

“Well, sorry for them, not sorry I don’t have to worry about Beech and Keller.”

Timmy laughs. “Oh, you should. Do you want to know how his suicide goes, Fathie?”

“Come on, Faith.” Sister Pete tugs her around. “You need to finish signing.”

“Beecher’s never shown any sign of-”

“No. Since Vern Schillinger was transferred, Tobias has been doing much better. And your pardon will only make him more hopeful about the world and his own eventual release. Oh, speaking of- Hello, gentleman.”

“Sorry, we’re late,” Toby says. “I think Keller hid my-”

“I didn’t hide your Quran. Oh, and by the way, great reason to almost make us miss Boston girl’s departure, you needing to make sure-”

Faith clears her throat. “Boys, a little more attention on me would be nice.”

Toby kisses her forehead. “Good luck, Faith.”

“You too. Hey, when you get out, look me up. But just find my number or e-mail address. Sunnydale’s nothing I can’t handle, but it really isn’t a place for tourists.”

“Faith, I’ll be back in just a minute. Do not-”

“I’m not breaking either of these two out, Sister.”

Nodding, Sister Pete leaves, and as soon as she’s out of sight, Faith grabs Keller’s hand. “Back soon, Beech.”

…

Chris laughs as Boston girl pushes him against a wall in a semi-secluded area.

“Thought I’d never get this chance.” Her hands make quick work of his belt and zipper, of course, Boston girl would be fast-

And then, his primary brain comes back into focus, and biting back a sigh, he catches her arms as she starts to kneel down.

“Oh, Boston, believe me, I’d love what you’re offering, and I’d love being able to pay back the favour, but- Toby might be in play. A week ago, he let me move back into his pod, and last night- well.”

Toby just doesn’t have it in him to be a heartless enough bastard to let someone suffer, even if that person did have plans to break four or more of his bones.

Quirking her eyebrow, she studies him, and he lets himself relax against the wall.

“You used your grief about my upcoming death to score?”

She breaks into a grin. “Nice.”

“Yeah, one, that grief was real. On both our parts. And uh, well, ‘score’ is somewhat relative a term.”

There hadn’t been sex, but there had been some kissing. More than this, Toby had climbed into his bunk with him, and he’d fallen asleep wrapped around Toby.

The hacks are unlikely to ever let such a thing slide again, but if he doesn’t screw things up, he can use last night as a stepping stone to more kisses, being able to just touch Toby during the day, and eventually, sex. Hear, ‘I love you,’ again, be able to say it, and there will be a time when Toby doesn’t even stop to doubt it on either of their parts.

“So, his- uh, Muslim Bible?”

“I didn’t hide it.”

She looks sceptical.

“It’s exactly where he left it last. It isn’t my fault he’s forgotten where that is.”

“And you haven’t told him because-?”

“I don’t like his friendship with-”

“Ain’t your call,” is her stern reply.

“It is when Saïd is encouraging him to write to Schillinger and try to, I don’t know, make peace. Vern’s out of our lives, and he doesn’t need to be back in. Toby fought back against someone who tried to destroy him, and he shouldn’t apologise for that. Besides, Muslims are really not down with sex between men.”

“Lot of people aren’t,” she says. “Beecher might have made some bad choices to get here, but if he wants you, an annoyingly religious friend won’t stop him.”

“No, but other-” Three bodies flash through his head. “Never mind.”

They’d been doing horrible things to people, but who was going to believe a white trash greasemonkey over three preppie WASPs with daddy’s high-priced lawyers on speed-dial? So, he’d seduced them, and then, killed them.

Agent Taylor has him made, though, or close enough. The fact they were gay or just willing to respond to his charms, that was just luck for him. It had nothing to do with why he killed them, but Taylor’s convinced he’s a repressed, self-hating homo who got off on killing and, possibly, raping innocent college kids.

The one thing Taylor doesn’t got is evidence, but if he ever does- Toby is likely to believe professional, loves-the-law, has a kid of his own Taylor over the guy who worked with Vern.

“Drop it, Boston girl,” he orders. “I’ll look out for Toby, swear to you, and you look out for you. Alright? Swear it.”

She nods. “I swear it.” Reaching over, she turns his head. Kissing his cheek, and then, the other, she says, “Been nice knowing you, Brooklyn.”

“Faith!” Sister Peter’s loud, unusually shrill voice fills the air.

“Coming, Sister P!” Winking at him, she adds, “Or not, in this case.”

…

Sister Pete glares at the two, and then, when her eyes take in Chris’ undone belt and unzipped fly, she sighs.

“Hey, I wanted to, but this one was too worried about being separated from his new roomie if we were caught.”

Toby chuckles, and shoulders relaxing, Chris buckles his belt and zips the fly before going over to stand next to him.

“Here, I finally got the last of the papers, and a car from Wolfram and Hart is waiting outside.”

Signing it, Faith hugs Sister Pete. “Take care, Sister.”

Then, she and Chris clasp hands. “Brooklyn.”

“Boston.”

They let go, and Faith walks past the open gates to the outside.

…

Epilogue

Mindlessly munching on some popcorn, Faith perks up when the newscaster continues, “In other news, due to information provided by Oswald State Penitentiary’s prisoner, Christopher Keller, in exchange for a sentence reduction of 88 years to 25 with the possibility of parole in 10, the FBI has-”

“Hello, Faith.”

Tensing, she looks over, and seeing Wesley, she grabs a nearby knife.

It hits the wall.

“Yes, I’m dead. The message I gave Timmy Kirk to pass along to you was accurate, you see.”

Sighing, she yells, “B, I’m sorry to tell you, but Angel might be dead!”

Soon, the basement is filled with potentials, and as everyone talks, the image of Wesley directs a smile of sympathetic indulgence at her.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: I really have no idea why I decided Keller might have some connection to Brooklyn. Meloni is from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and as far as I know, there was no hint in the show where Keller might have grown up or lived before he got sent to OZ. I thought, maybe, I was transplanting something from Elliot Stabler onto Keller, since I watched Law and Order: SVU long before I did Oz, but no, Stabler is from Queens.
> 
> So, Watsonian explanation: Faith made a connection between Brooklyn and Keller for some reason, and whether Keller's statement about spending some time there as a kid is true or not, he has no issue with going along with this.


End file.
